Dark Oil (3 page)

On her way out she glanced at Tim's photo on the sideboard, and his words echoed in her mind, like the chorus of a new song playing over and over on the radio. “Today? You're leaving today?”

Her neck stiffened. It hadn't been surprise in his voice when she'd told him the anniversary dinner was off. It hadn't been disappointment. That pitch, that very high, slightly awkward pitch, she remembered it now. She'd heard it before, when he'd got out of a job he didn't want to do, when his mother had cancelled a visit or he'd talked a client into going for the most expensive option.

The room spun around her and she rested her hand on the gnarled wood of the front door. No, it certainly wasn't disappointment she'd heard in her husband's voice. Nor was it sadness, or concern.

It was something altogether different. It was controlled delight.

Lara dashed through the half-open automatic glass doors of the modest but adequate airport and headed straight to the business class check-in counter. One of the advantages of being in a relatively small city was that there were never any interminable queues, certainly none to rival Heathrow or Charles de Gaulle. She was especially grateful for that today, since it had been a race against the clock to get to the airport on time.

She arrived at the desk out of breath, her hand on her chest. “I got stuck in traffic. I'm terribly sorry. Is it too late to check in this bag?”

“Not at all, Madam. If you'd like some refreshments before departure, the business class lounge is up the escalator to the right.”

She felt like royalty as the immaculately groomed airline employee exchanged pleasantries with her and wished her a good trip. Even the smiles were bigger in business class.

The lounge was all luxury, much more than the rest of the airport, with highly polished mahogany tables and rich navy walls. Lara marvelled at the selection of delicate hors-d'oeuvre, ribbon sandwiches and French pâtisseries, laid out on ornate silver platters for people to help themselves. She smiled at the thought of taking one of each and heading to a comfortable velvet armchair to enjoy them. It was just what she needed after the scare she'd had when she couldn't find Tim.

But everything was all right now, wasn't it? She could still hear Tim's voice, as he exclaimed, “Today? You're leaving today?”She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no need to worry, she told herself.

“I asked to change your reservation so you'd be sitting next to me.”

Lara jumped. Martin had snuck up on her and was really scaring her with his comment. She held back a cry of despair. All that time by his side! How would she get through it? She tried to think of something to say that wouldn't aggravate him.

“Oh, hello Martin. About the reservation, I didn't–”

“Don't play innocent with me. Anyway, you're safe. The plane was full so they couldn't move you.”

She simply nodded in relief, although blushing a little at the thought he knew exactly what she'd orchestrated.

“Have you seen Jack?” he asked, as he set off through the lounge looking for their colleague.

“I wouldn't know. We haven't been introduced.” She had to run every now and then by Martin's side to keep up with him. He was tall and took giant steps, making no allowance for her somewhat shorter legs and much higher heels.

He raised his eyebrows. “You haven't? In that case I think I should warn you. Between you and me, he's a liar and a cheat.”

“You've told me that already. Or words to that effect.”

“I have? Well, you can't be warned too much with him. He has no principles or rules. I, for one, would be glad to be rid of him.”

An amused, but disbelieving sound escaped her throat. “Forgive me for saying so, but that seems a bit harsh. What exactly do you mean?” Was he trying to warn her about Jack's ethics in the oil industry or tell her he was a womaniser? And, if he was a Don Juan, what did it matter to Martin?

“Forget it. Anyway, I thought you'd met him because when we were in Alan's office. . . Speaking of the devil.” Martin pursed his lips.

Lara looked up to see the man who had opened the door for her as she arrived at the CEO's office that morning, the man whose green eyes and square jaw had raised her temperature too much for comfort. As she lowered her gaze, Martin's warning sounded in her ear. She had no trouble at all believing Martin at that instant, no trouble imagining this Adonis as a seducer. He had all the necessary physical attributes to be successful at it.

Completely ignoring Martin, Jack thrust his hand forward at Lara. “Jack Norton, Exploration Manager, at your service.”

She had to smile. “I'm the one in the service industry, Mr Norton.”

“Call me Jack.”

“Thank you. Lara Beckham.”

“Sounds posh.” Pleased with his joke, he flashed a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. “Any relation to the footballer?”

“None whatsoever.”

Martin crossed his arms. “You're late. We were going to go over the correspondence together. Since you're not sitting next to me on the plane, I thought you'd at least turn up in time to do it before take-off.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “It's all right, Martin. We've got thirty hours before the meeting.” He turned to Lara. “Done much flying?”

“Not for business. Lots as a younger person. My parents worked overseas. Dad was an engineer.” And in the first few years of their marriage she'd been all over Europe for holidays with Tim to the very best hotels, but she liked to play things down, so she said nothing.

“Can I carry that for you?” He was referring to her folder, the one she'd kept out of her luggage to read through on the plane.

“That's nice of you. As long as it's not too much trouble.”

He looked at her as if they were the only two people in the world. “For you, nothing would be.” She found herself having to turn away, again. So that's what Martin had meant. Jack wasn't one to play down the charm. He had a way of immediately making you feel special, intimate even, and he did it right there in public, in full view of others. He was effortlessly—and annoyingly—seductive, as if it was innate.

She casually lifted her left hand to her cheek, letting it rest there for a few seconds. The engagement and wedding rings on her index finger sparkled in the fluorescent light. There was no way he could miss them.

Jack laughed. “Nice jewellery, Miss Beckham. It is
Miss
Beckham, isn't it? I'm sorry if I've done anything to embarrass you. I'm harmless, really.”

A larrikin, that's what he was. She smiled. “Call me Lara.”

A suave voice announced the business class passengers were boarding. Martin pushed through Lara and Jack to lead the way, leaving them to exchange an amused glance.

As if he had eyes in his back, Martin suddenly turned around. Nostrils flared, his face slightly red, there was no doubting he was already irritated by the seemingly instant and natural complicity between Lara and Jack. “We have two hours in Singapore between planes,” he snapped. “I'll meet you in the lounge there, and we can go over the documents. I'm warning you, so you don't make plans to go gallivanting about the shops.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “I don't recall seeing your name above mine in the company's organisational chart. And technically, Lara reports to the Head of Legal, who
reports separately to the CEO. In other words, we can't boss each other around. Not that
I
would ever try.”

“Although you may be unaware of it, Jack,” snarled Martin, “Alan is reviewing the charts as we speak. There's a good chance that will all change.”

Jack flinched, but Martin continued, turning the knife in the fresh wound with apparent pleasure. “I can already hear the announcement, which I've been told will be made soon. In the meantime, you're right. We can't boss each other around. It wasn't what I was doing. Just trying to get organised and get some work done. There are billions of dollars riding on this.”

“You've been told about an announcement? What exactly have–?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss. It's confidential.”

“You've officially been told and I haven't?”

“Well, maybe not exactly. But a hint was dropped and I'm sure–”

“A hint? Oh, you're full of it.” Jack shook his head with obvious disgust before rushing down the corridor towards the gangway that led to the plane.

Lara followed him in silence, stopping briefly as the attendants controlled her boarding pass. Jack turned to her. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for things to get out of hand. But he's such a jerk. And you didn't hear that from me.”

She looked behind her, checking Martin was at a safe distance, and then smiled. “Sure. My lips are sealed.”

Jack stepped aside, his hand outstretched in a gentlemanly gesture. “After you, Madam. I insist.” She walked in front of him, nodding her thanks.

On board, the stuffiness hit her. She remembered her holiday in Europe, how she'd hated flying, the constant drone, the dryness of the air, her stiff and swollen legs. And she'd never been as far as Negala without a stopover. It was going to be a long haul. At least Jack seemed to be good company, now she'd set him straight about her being married.

A tall, glamorous flight attendant with cherry red lips glanced at Lara's boarding pass and directed her to her seat. Lara couldn't help thinking Jack would be making eyes at that leggy blonde, but when she turned around discreetly to check on him for the fun of it she saw he was no longer behind her.

They had been separated in the queue. Perhaps his seat was nowhere near hers. She felt a twinge of disappointment. Jack was amusing and protective of her, she could sense that already. There seemed to be an immediate connection between them. Well, it was good she was getting on with him—that's all it was, wasn't it? It might make up for how Martin treated her, might even take her mind off Tim and the comment he'd made before hanging up. Those few words, uttered in a pitch too high for comfort, which had been enough to leave Lara with the niggling feeling that something might be wrong.

She shook her head. No, she didn't want to think of that. Things were fine with Tim. Just fine. She squeezed further down the narrow aisle, wondering where she would be seated and was somewhat relieved to see a little old lady, who was already dozing off, in the seat next to hers.

The woman snored softly, and that might become annoying, but at least Lara wouldn't be next to a presumptuous self-centred bourbon-drinking male who would hit on her at every opportunity.

She put down her bag, took off her jacket and struggled for an instant with the overhead compartment. It seemed to be stuck. If only she were a bit taller, a touch stronger.

“Let me get that for you.”

She recognised the voice instantly. She turned to see Jack, smiling and ready to help. “Jack! Where are you sitting?”

He pointed to the seat directly across the aisle from hers. “There.” He raised his hand to stop her, as if he knew what she was going to say next. “Pure coincidence. I didn't ask to be close to you. No offence.”

She chuckled. “None taken. I wasn't going to complain.” She was pleased he was sitting close, although she did wonder what kind of a travel companion he would make. In any case, she wasn't next to Martin and that certainly was a bonus.

Jack opened the overhead compartment without effort, and put in Lara's bag and jacket for her. “Thanks,” Lara said, pulling out of her pocket a few sweets she'd prepared to help her ears with pressure changes during take-off and landing. “Would you like one?” It was the only polite gesture she could think of in return.

“No, I have a better solution. I'll sip on a cognac.” He winked. “Need to get my money's worth. Well, the company's money.”

She looked away. God help her if he was one of those men who drank all the way! As long as he wasn't all over her within a few hours. . . She'd never liked attention from men who'd had too much to drink, even back in the days when she was free.

She found it detestable, unbearable, now that she was a married woman—a happily married woman. She was happily married, wasn't she? She sighed as Martha's voice resonated in her mind: “he's working from home, as he
often
does.”

Why did she feel so uneasy about it? Tim had explained his whereabouts. Martha was a crazy, unreliable secretary. It all made perfect sense, didn't it? She tried her best to shrug off the niggling doubts.

Before too long the plane was up above the clouds. Soon the “fasten your seatbelts” sign was turned off and Lara felt her shoulders relax. She took a magazine out of the pocket in front of her seat and flicked through it.

Jack leaned over and so did she, to hear him. She caught a whiff of his cologne, a light, heady perfume mixed with something more sensual, more primitive. She pulled back when she realised it was the scent of his skin. “Anyone briefed you?” His voice was deep and warm, the type of voice that made her vibrate.

“I've had a read of the correspondence and been given a bit of background.”

“I mean about what matters to you personally. Health issues? Safety? Dress code?”

She frowned. What was there to know? “They sent me for my shots the day I got the job.”

“You're telling me that stuck-up, know-it-all hasn't bothered to sit you down and have a chat about what to expect in a place like Negala?”

Lara shook her head. Jack jumped to his feet and in just a few steps was towering over Martin. Lara watched as Martin stood up too. She saw the men argue, arms waving, red flooding their cheeks.

A flight attendant moved towards them, a sense of urgency in her step. Gently, but persuasively, she encouraged Jack down the aisle, pointing to his place. Jack returned to his seat, slumped in it and ordered a cognac, winking again at Lara. Within seconds the drink was served and, without hesitation, Jack emptied the glass.